


Good Night, Haru!

by Einzel



Category: Free!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 09:10:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1341430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Einzel/pseuds/Einzel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My version of how Haru got his phone and how Makoto never forgets him. The idea came from Shachou whom I would like to thank whole-heartedly because writing this was my pleasure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Night, Haru!

When his mother decided she would follow her husband abroad alone, Nanase Haruka finally (albeit begrudgingly) agreed to get himself a cell phone. It was his mother’s final condition for letting him stay at their house by the ocean and Haruka first detested it as stupid and bothersome.

“..But I don’t want a phone,” he complained to Makoto the next day, sitting on the bed at his best friend’s house. Makoto shook his head softly.

“Haru… it’ll be fine, you’ll see. I have a phone, too, and it’s quite handy, you know. You can set an alarm, write memos, leave messages…” he said, Haru growing more and more uncomfortable as Makoto went on until he managed to say, more quietly than before,

“I don’t know how to use these new phones.”

Makoto blinked but soon broke into an affectionate smile.

“Oh, Haru.. if that’s the case, why don’t I come with you so we can pick out your new phone together? We could get you a model just like mine so I’d be able to teach you how to use it. What do you say, Haru?”

Haru still colored at the thought of how much he argued with his mother and yet easily said _yes_ to Makoto. It was as though the two had spoken completely different languages, his parents’ voices battering at the gates of his small world while Makoto’s words protected and expanded its boundaries little by little, always safely, always _together_. When he told his mother that night that he and Makoto would go buy a phone the next day, she flashed him a self-satisfied smile and said, “I knew I could count on Makoto to see it my way,” but as much as Haru hated those words and smiles, he didn’t argue. It was enough to know in his heart of hearts that things were now going _Makoto’s_ way, and his way just happened to be a path wide enough for two instead of the thin tight-rope Haruka walked at home. The phone was now something he was getting for Makoto’s sake more than anyone else’s – it would be yet another set of items that matched and matched _well_ , linking Haru to his best friend in small, familiar ways.

And so Makoto walked Haru to the mobile service in town after school and they purchased a model just like his, only blue instead of green, and when Haru finally got to hold the new phone as officially, truly his, its slick design and metallic sheen were not so unwelcome anymore. Makoto even accompanied Haruka back to his house and once they showed the new phone to his mother (who cheerfully thanked Tachibana for “bringing Haruka to his senses” and taking such good care of him), Haru practically locked himself and Makoto inside his room so that Makoto could teach him how to use this new alien artifact.

He couldn’t have asked for a kinder or more patient instructor. Makoto held out his phone for Haru to see and they searched and entered the menus side by side, taking Haru through each step of every important function he might need. It wasn’t just a simple lecture, either. Makoto helped him set an alarm for the next morning of school, made Haru add his number to the contact list (and then his own new number so Haru could just show anyone who asked for it instead of having to remember some arbitrary code), got him to type a memo for “Game Night” next Saturday and even made him send a text message to Makoto telling him how Haru liked his new phone.

_Its okay_ , read Haru’s first-ever text message and Makoto laughed, looking fondly at his friend. **Good. Enjoy your new phone, Haru!** came his reply, coaxing an obnoxious *ping* out of the new phone. Haru read the message, acknowledged its existence in his inbox and then exited the menu, flipping his phone shut. Makoto smiled.

“Now you can call me any time you want or need to, Haru,” he said softly. Haru shrugged.

“I don’t need to. You live five minutes away.”

“True,” chuckled the other. “But call me now, just so you practice,” he said and Haru sighed, flipping his phone open again. He paused for a second and then opened _Contacts_ , pressing _Names_. Sure enough, Makoto’s number was there waiting for him, and when he pushed _Call_ , Makoto’s phone vibrated with some generic digitized tune. Makoto picked up and held the phone to his ear. Haru mirrored him.

“Hey, Haru,” spoke Makoto, his voice echoing in Haru’s right ear. Haru’s gaze was deadpan.

“Hello,” he said, lowering the phone to press _End Call_. “Will my phone sound like that, too?”

“Probably something similar,” said Makoto. “There are some ring tone samples built into each phone so you can pick any one you like. Want me to show you?”

“No,” replied Haru, glancing up from his phone. “Can you turn off all the sound instead?”

Makoto laughed and helped switched Haru’s phone to _Mute_ and _Vibrate_.

“You can also take pictures with this model,” said Makoto afterwards, pointing to the appropriate icon and commands. Haru followed his pointers and snapped a picture at random: a blurry close-up of his bed and some of the floor beyond. Makoto grinned and showed him how to shift the perspective next, resulting in a picture of their faces, Makoto looking into the camera with a grin and Haru gazing rather absently towards the bottom of the screen, no doubt concentrating on pressing the right buttons.

“There. Now you know pretty much everything you need,” said Makoto.

“Un,” nodded Haru, reaching out to place his phone on the nightstand. He paused. “I’ll probably forget most of it soon.”

“No you won’t,” chided Makoto. “I’ll make you remember,” he said. Haru quirked his brow. “I’ll leave you a message every day and then you can practice texting or calling me.”

“That’s not necessary,” mumbled Haru, glancing away, but his posture betrayed no strong objection to the idea and that was enough for Makoto.

“You don’t have to reply every day or even reply at all. It’s just in case you want to practice.”

“Okay.”

* * *

Makoto was true to his word: that night, just a few hours after he left Haruka’s house to go home, Haru’s new phone made a modest rattle on the nightstand to announce a new message from contact _Makoto_.

**Good night, Haru! Sleep well!**

_Goodnight makoto_ , typed Haru, often missing the keys but succeeding at last. He sent it and then cocooned himself in his blankets again, peering sleepily at the blinding screen. The characters may have looked premanufactured and impersonal, but it was slowly sinking in that they came from Makoto, that his voice and smiles and presence travelled along with those bits of data to seek out Haru in his house, cooped up in his room just so he wouldn’t have to listen to his mother talk about his staying here and how important his father’s job was. The more he stared at that message, the closer Makoto felt in spirit and Haru closed his eyes, suddenly glad he had a phone.

In the course of the next few days, Makoto sent Haru a message every night and Haru did his best to reply to each and every one.

**Good night, Haru!**

_Good night_

**See you tomorrow, Haru!**

_Ok_

**Sleep well, Haru!**

_You too_

And slowly but surely, Haruka had grown used to his phone. He still used his digital clock for the morning alarm and wrote his memos on post-its to stick on his bulletin board, but the phone’s alarm function helped him with cooking times as he practiced for living on his own, and he checked his phone every day after school to the general contentment of his mother whose own number was soon added along with his father’s, just in case. Those three contacts (plus Haru’s own number) were the only ones in his phone for a long, long time. Not that he needed more – Makoto himself generated more traffic than fifty others combined. The “good night messages” continued well past a simple practice run: they had gradually become a routine, a bedtime ritual that was only neglected on nights they spent together. The repetitive act of receiving and checking the “1 New Message” eventually faded into background noise, just the way Makoto himself sometimes seemed to be the backdrop of Haruka’s life, the vastness of space cradling our world in place that you hardly ever think about until you stop for a moment and look up at the sky, compelled to sit and gaze upon its myriad shining stars. In those rare, special moments of consciousness, Haru texted back. The rest of the time, the sky and its stars remained all-pervasive and so, paradoxically, invisible.

That was the way of the world for the next few years. Even once Nagisa and Rei’s contacts were added, followed by Kou, Rin and Seijuurou (as an act of courtesy between captains and vice captains since any and all communication was always redirected to Makoto), things seemed to stay as they had been. The messages came, they were read and contently acknowledged if Haru was still awake, then left unanswered as soothing background noise. But then there were also times, long nights when Haru was still awake when the message came and he stared at the screen for ages, failing to type a message in the end. On those nights, the words would not, could not come. _Makoto should know better by now_ , he told himself in displaced anger and the phone was plopped onto the nightstand in childish mutiny. He didn’t have to reply at all if he didn’t want to. Makoto said so and he knew Haru didn’t really care about this stuff…

Until one evening, no message came. Haru had gone to bed early as he always did, just a few minutes after nine in the evening, and the message usually came close to ten, often catching him fast asleep these days. It had been a few days after the relay. Rin was smiling again; Rei had forgiven them all for accepting his sacrifice without question and Nagisa was cheerful as ever. Nothing really changed, least of all Haru himself…

As though he had been rigged to some innate timer, Haru reached for his phone an hour later.

10.04 pm. _No New Messages._

_Any minute now…_

10.17 pm. _No New Messages._

_That’s strange.._

10.39 pm. _No New Messages._

_It’s not like him to forget (me) like that._

11.02 pm. _No New Messages._

_Makoto…?_

* * *

1.22 am. _1 New Message._

**Sleep night Haru** , typed a near-unconscious Makoto after having stayed up all night taking care of his sick siblings and their stomach flu from hell, left with just enough presence of mind to collapse in his own bed and send his message. He flopped back into bed right after, ready to pass out.. and five seconds later, the phone began to vibrate, singing its generic digitized tune.

“Are you okay, Makoto?” came Haru’s voice, alert and urgent, but instead of feeling any alarm or worry, Makoto’s weary joints began to relax as some strange sensation washed over him in gentle, healing waves.

“Haru..? I’m fine, Haru. The twins are sick so I’ve been up all night trying to take care of them.. Sorry I worried you…” There was a pause and Makoto imagined Haru turning his head either in denial or disapproval. He slowly broke into a smile. “But what about you? You’re never awake this late… are _you_ okay, Haru?”

Haru paused again, glad that Makoto couldn’t see the way his cheeks flushed even though he felt no shame beyond that of not trusting Makoto’s constancy. What filled him to the brim was relief and his bed suddenly felt inviting and empty at the same time, yearning for the source of that soft, sleepy voice at the other end of the line.

“I’m fine,” said Haru, his voice thick. “Sleep well, Makoto.”

“You too, Haru. I’ll come see you when the twins are healthy again. I don’t want you to catch it.”

“I won’t,” replied Haru a little too hastily. Makoto laughed. Haru wanted to scream. “I’ll come over tomorrow.”

“Haru… don’t say I didn’t warn you. Stomach flu is nasty. Please, Haru.”

“It’ll be fine. Go sleep already.”

“Haha, okay. Good night, Haru.”

“Good night, Makoto.”

They each hung up at the same time, sinking back into the sheets, and while Makoto suddenly found he couldn’t sleep yet and couldn’t stop grinning either, Haru fell asleep within five minutes with a small, content smile on his face, his hand still holding that two-year-old matching blue phone.


End file.
